The Rest in Peace Affair
by RoseLight
Summary: Solo is troubled by the death of a young agent he recruited.


REST IN PEACE AFFAIR

Prologue

Napoleon Solo led the team scouring the compound before he would give the final signal to Kuryakin to blow it up. Thrush had evacuated in a hurry, but trashed their nest so that little of consequence remained. He was loping through a deserted hallway when a door caught his eye. Architecturally, it appeared to be a closet ; but why was it secured with three locks?

Solo blasted through, shielding his eyes from the dust and darkness. He saw the body hanging limply against the wall, suspended by shackles. The angle indicated that both shoulder blades were dislocated, arms twisted cruelly out of joint. Hair matted so that it obscured the face, clothes stiff with dried blood, the thick smell of festering and decay. What was that old proverb about birds not fouling their own nest? It must have been a painfully slow death, he shuddered. Solo never got accustomed to the creative cruelty of which human beings were capable. He turned to leave when a slight movement, a moan, caught his attention.

"Solo..." it rasped.

He crossed the small room in four strides and found its inhabitant, unaccountably, alive. He set to work at once to free the captive. "Hang on, we're going home," he encouraged, even as the pulse grew thready. Then, in horror, he recognized the body. "Danny? Oh, God, Danny..."

"Lousy timing," her tongue, swollen from dehydration, was choking her. "I gave up yesterday." Then she passed out, and Solo dragged her into the sunshine.

ACT I Teddy's here…

Illya Kuryakin came by again, offering tepid coffee and stale croissant, all he could glean from the commissary after hours. He knew Solo had been in the waiting room since they had hauled in what was left of Danny McNeil to the medical center seven hours ago. One look at his partner and he decided no cliche would convince Solo to eat or sleep or go home.

"Any word?"

"The medical people are taking credit for the miracle that she's still alive. 'Too soon to tell'-as if I haven't heard THAT one before. They promise plenty of pain and rehab. They've called in a psych team," Solo added darkly.

"That sounds standard, considering the circumstances," Kuryakin reasoned.

Solo looked up into his partner's face. "Teddy's here."

"Oh."

Their colleague, psychiatrist Theodore Mason, had been on a long-term research assignment in Geneva. That Waverly had recalled him to Danny's bedside was an unsettling sign.

# # # # # #

In guilt and exhaustion, Solo's mind wandered to an earlier conversation.

"Why do you persist in calling her Danielle?" Solo asked his partner.

"It's her name."

"She goes by Danny."

Kuryakin shrugged. "Some women need to be reminded that they are women."

"Why, you Russian reactionary-didn't you learn anything from the Marxist training of your youth? Equality of the sexes and all that-"

"I appreciate women, Napoleon," the Russian confirmed. "Professionally, and personally. In our work, it's necessary to employ a few comely agents to slink around and seduce a diplomat or two. But in real field work, they are a dangerous complication, a physical and emotional distraction..."

"Keep 'em barefoot and pregnant, eh Tovarish?"

"Cherished and protected, Napoleon. As politically incorrect as that may be."

The conversation had come back to haunt him.

# # # # #

"Napoleon..." Teddy Mason was at his elbow, recalling him to the situation at hand in the waiting room.

"Teddy, thank God. Have you seen her?"

He laid a hand on Solo's shoulder. "She won't be conscious for a while. I'm just laying groundwork, reading her file. You found her. What can you tell me about the circumstances? From your experience, what can you speculate about the trauma she's sustained?"

"That girl is laying in there because of me."

"We'll deal with your guilt later," Mason said gruffly. "Right now I need a professional assessment from the Chief Enforcement Agent."

Napoleon flatly reconstructed the rescue effort with his best observational skill. Danny had told him, "I gave up yesterday." The CEA wondered, had she given up UNCLE secrets, or given up hope of rescue?

ACT II "Now serving # 57..."

They met when the men from UNCLE had been sidelined by a recalcitrant rental car north of Chicago. The local dealer directed them to McNeil's, where Solo swore he saw Francoise Daneille McNeil lay hands on the engine, whisper some magic words, and get them back on the road.

"You're Danny McNeil?" Illya questioned.

"My mother's parents christened me; my father gave me a choice between Frankie or Danny." She had been raised on romantic tales of her grandparents' adventures in the French resistance, and her father's instruction on engineering and mechanics. Any machine that fell under the spell of her hands worked to maximum capacity; even accomplished tasks it was never designed to do.

An innocent who became entangled in the Penny Ante Affair, her mechanical resourcefulness became the saving grace of the mission. Her cool effectiveness under fire led Napoleon to recommend her for UNCLE training. He sponsored her, coached her, and applauded her graduation.

On their first date, Solo had maneuvered her onto his couch , applied the legendary lip lock, and felt her trembling in his arms. He was quickly chagrined to discover she was not trembling with anticipation, but with laughter at the awkward situation. He had to laugh, too. They agreed romance between them was patently absurd, and so began a true rarity in Solo's experience: a warm, sustaining friendship with a woman.

And it helped that Danny had a knack of knowing just when to show up on his doorstep with popcorn and a Three Stooges short.

"I'm what-?" Solo repeated while cuing up the film to the classic Disorder in the Court.

"You're legendary, and you know it. No female around here really believes she belongs to UNCLE until she's belonged to you, however briefly."

He looked hurt. "Danny, you make me feel like a deli-'now serving # 57-'"

"But see, with Kuryakin, the mystery is the attraction. He's such an unknown quantity, that any scrap of information is gnawed on for days. We girls even have a name for it," she confided, "Kury-akin-osity." Gosh, if I ever revealed that their brooding Russian wolfhound is really just a pensive puppy who likes his belly tickled-"

"And how would you know that?" Napoleon asked archly.

"Metaphor, my dear Solo, metaphor."

He appeared unconvinced.

Danny raised her hand in an oath. "I solemnly swear that I have not now, nor have I ever been, associated with the Communist Party animal."

Experienced in interrogation, Solo stared at her relentlessly.

"Ok, ok, I confess. We did spent the night together once."

"Aha!"

"When you had that hemorrhagic fever-"

"You waited til I was incapacitated-?"

"We sat up all night beside your bed. That's when I bonded with your blond Bolshevik buddy."

"So he's not jealous anymore?"

"Because I'm a better pilot than he is?" Danny grinned. "I assembled my first Cessna engine when I was 13. I've been airborne ever since. Kuryakin may have mechanical theory down pat, but I'm a hands-on gal."

"I cannot personally testify to that," Solo smirked.

"See?" she pointed. "That's the kind of comment that gets you into trouble."

"I'm just observant. I happen to know that Illya appreciates ladies who are more...sedate."

"Did you say, 'sedated'?" she chuckled wickedly.

"Don't change the subject. So you don't belong to UNCLE?"

"Oh, the grapevine believes I do," she laughed. "But I just joined up to play with the best new technology available. And to teach others how to use it."

It had been their last conversation. As always, teasing and affectionate. On an unremarkable, ordinary, Thursday evening.

The coffee jolted him back to the present, and Danny's danger. The CEA had an investigation to complete.

ACT III Minimal Risk

Solo slammed through the receptionist's door and blew past her desk.

"Sir-"

"That's all right, Miss Rogers, I've been expecting Mr. Solo."

"What the hell was she doing on a field assignment?" Napoleon exploded.

"Her expertise was needed on site. " Waverly remained cool and unshaken behind his desk.

"She was never trained for the dangers of enforcement," Solo reminded his boss unnecessarily. " She was safely assigned to the science section. "

"Our reports indicated there was minimal risk."

Solo pounded his palms flat on Waverly's desk. "I want the incompetent who wrote 'minimal risk' ! I want to haul him next to that woman's bed and show him what minimal risk looks like."

"Mr. Solo, we cannot afford to lose two agents to this unfortunate situation. Go home."

He remained unmollified. "Sir, I'd rather-"

"Go home, Mr. Solo. Go home now." There was no mistaking his tone. "Dr. Mason will be in touch. Your paperwork will wait. You'll be contacted regarding your next mission."

Solo turned on his heel and strode back to the medical section.

He settled beside Danny's body, dodging the tubes and wires.

"Solo.." she stirred.

"Here, Danny."

"Why?" she croaked.

"I'm so sorry, Danny. Our intelligence said minimal risk."

She shook her head. "No...why did you bring me here? It was almost over..."

"Danny, it'll take work, but we're not giving up on you. Don't you give up," he pleaded earnestly.

"Call Sam. Please. Call Sam..."

"Right away." Napoleon dropped a kiss on her swollen purpled cheek.

# # # # #

Finding no clue at her work station or in her locker, Solo obtained access to O'Neil's apartment. It did not take an experienced investigator to interpret the scene. Boxes stacked, packed, and neatly labeled. A suitcase. A draft of her 30 day resignation notice. A letter confirming employment at Northcoast Industries. An address book, opened to the listing Sam: Moosehead Lodge , with a Chicago area code.

Solo met the anxious Sam at the airport. Now it was no mystery why Danny had rebuffed romantic overtures in New York City. She had this earnest, rangy young man waiting for her on Lake Michigan.

"She never said goodbye, yknow," Sam explained. "Just left me a letter about a fabulous job in New York. We grew up together. Samanddanny, Dannyandsam, like it was one name. I understood she wanted to do something on her own. And once she was settled, she started writing again. And she'd fly back to the lodge whenever she could."

Solo led Sam directly to the medical center and checked in . "She's still fretful," reported the night supervisor.

"Leave her to me," Sam said with quiet confidence. "Danny, Sam's here," he leaned forward to make physical contact, but she was all bruises and bandages.

"Sam..." a single tear squeezed out of the corner of a blackened eye. "Couldn't leave again without saying goodbye..." her breathing was labored, each syllable an effort on her lips.

One look and Sam knew: he had to summon up all his courage to let her go again, forever. "All's forgiven," he smiled tightly. "There's always room at the Moosehead for you."

She became visibly peaceful.

"You can rest now, Danny. Time to go home." Her eyelids fluttered. His fingertips caressed across her battered face like a soft spring breeze. She smiled obediently and her struggle for breath ended.

Sam's face fell into her sterile sheets.

ACT IV Nocturne

Waverly customarily dispatched an UNCLE representative to personnel funerals. It was the civilized and proper thing to do, and Alexander Waverly was a civilized and proper gentleman. It was also an object lesson, however grim: a sobering reminder to his agents that all of them were expendable, and none of them were immortal.

"Mr. Solo, it is your turn on survivor duty." He handed Solo two one-way tickets to O'Hare.

"Is Illya coming, Sir?"

"Mr. Kuryakin is needed elsewhere. I believe Dr. Mason can accompany you. Keep you from getting lost on the drive back."

"Drive back, Sir?"

"I find a long auto ride an excellent opportunity for reflection. Plus the -uh-budgetary constraints, of course."

# # # # #

They did not stay for the internment. After miles of expressway silence, Napoleon posed a bothersome question the psychiatrist. "If I had not brought Sam to her so quickly, would Danny have willed herself to stay alive longer, giving the doctors enough time to save her?"

Mason sighed. "Napoleon, this whole thing does not revolve around you. All her systems were failing. She would've died without the comfort of Sam's absolution."

"I don't mean to sound like her death has no meaning except in my context."

"You can't help it. You have a very strong ego. But consider this: a weaker ego would be crushed by the responsibilities you carry."

Solo shook his head. "I thought we were friends. She was my friend. Every other week I'd unload on her about something. Brag about a successful mission; gripe about paperwork. But was I ever a friend to her? Did I ever notice she was homesick? Did I ever listen to her mention Sam? So I didn't use her body; I used her heart. And in the end I failed her miserably." Solo kept his eyes fastened on the long gray road ahead of them.

Mason endeavored to engage Napoleon but not challenge him. "What could you have done to change this?"

"I could've…reassigned her. I could've found her sooner. God, Teddy, I could've left her happy in Chicago, not dragged her into all this."

"It was her choice to join UNCLE. And when her unique skills were needed in the field, she went willingly. You didn't know she was in trouble." Mason recited in a calm, measured tone.

"Teddy, please don't be the voice of reason. Not now."

"I know. You need to suffer a while," the doctor acknowleged.

Some miles later...

"Is it possible...?" Solo could barely frame the fear out loud. "She had given her resignation. Is it possible she was given this assignment on purpose...to silence her?"

Mason had expected this. "You are a very intuitive man, Napoleon. What does your heart say? Could you work, support, sacrifice for an organization capable of such treachery?"

"No," he admitted. "I'm just stretching a very overwhelmed brain, trying to understand, to make this mess coherent, rational."

"Sometimes, some things, cannot be resolved. Healthy people learn to live with a certain amount of ambiguity."

"Lord knows I've handled deaths before. Why is Danny twisting me up inside?" Solo kept asking questions, kept needing answers.

"She touched that mischievous little boy Napoleon. The one you keep hidden under that sophisticated, cynical Solo. Remember, for everything to be your fault, you have to be in control of everything."

"So this whole episode is a cosmic lesson to remind me I'm not omnipotent?" Solo said bitterly.

"We should learn from every experience of life." Mason stretched. "We're about half-way home. Let's stop at the next plaza, get some juice, it'll be my turn to drive."

"Thanks, Teddy. Maybe I can finally catch a nap. I'm sorry you had to interrupt your work in Geneva to come here. You didn't even get to meet Danny."

Mason looked at him sympathetically. "Waverly didn't send for me on her account, Napoleon. He called for me to be here for you."

Epilogue

Solo trudged into his apartment, dragging his overnight bag across the floor. He was unusually sensitive to the cold and darkness lying in wait for him, and snapped on the light at once.

He poured a neat Scotch and toasted Francoise Daneille McNeil. Then he settled in his chair and rewound the film to a scene where Moe was slapping his colleagues silly.

He laughed until he cried.

finis


End file.
